


Can't Win Your Losing Fight

by perfectlystill



Series: To All The People Who Loved Peter And MJ Before [2]
Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Complicated Relationships, F/M, POV Outsider, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-12-06 19:51:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18224672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfectlystill/pseuds/perfectlystill
Summary: He shivers, and she knows it’s because her hands are cold. “I’m your girlfriend,” she says against his mouth.In which dating Peter Parker reaffirms three things Felicia already knew: she likes having what other people want, Peter likes MJ, and boys are scum.





	Can't Win Your Losing Fight

**Author's Note:**

> There's a scene at a party where a guy has a hard time accepting, "No." Nothing _happens_ happens, but I feel like it needs a warning. 
> 
> Title from Paramore's "Decode."

Felicia Hardy is going to be dumped for Michelle Felicia-Never-Bothered-To-Remember-Her-Last-Name. 

She knows it. 

Everybody knows it. 

Which is the problem. Because even if Felicia breaks Peter Parker’s sweet, boring heart, and even if she manages to bag a hotter, cooler boyfriend the following day (she’s a _catch_ , so she doesn’t rule it out. The probability might even be in her favor, especially because she recently got a trim and her hair bounces _just right_ over her shoulder), everyone will still know that he’ll probably be dating Michelle within the next six months, and that somewhere, buried deep in his brain right now, he wants to be dating her instead of Felicia. 

Felicia’s kind of put herself in a lose-lose situation, especially with everyone in their biomedical engineering year.

It’s embarrassing. 

 

 

Full disclosure: Felicia should have seen this coming. 

 

 

She meets Peter during freshman orientation when he and his aunt sit at the same table as her and her parents. Peter’s got a plate piled with bacon and sausage and hashbrowns (the gross, fried kind you’d get at McDonalds) and three pieces of under-toasted white bread. 

“Hungry?” Felicia asks flatly. It’s not even 8 AM, and her dad snores, okay? 

“Yeah.” He grins. “I have a fast metabolism.”

“Me too.” She looks down at her plate, but the only thing left is some bland honeydew, because her dad insisted they arrive at 7 sharp, right when the ballroom opened for breakfast. He likes arriving early. He likes having time to scope places out. It’s something she’s picked up, too. “I’m Felicia.”

“Oh.” He fumbles, wiping his hands on his cloth napkin -- Felicia notes MIT’s combination of college cheap and trying-to-impress-the-rich-parents fancy. He holds his hand out to her. “I’m Peter. And this is my aunt, May.” He gestures to the woman next to him. 

“Hi, Felicia,” May reaches across her nephew to shake her hand, too. “Are you excited?”

“For the weekend? Yeah. For this boring speech? No.”

May laughs, and Peter smiles around a forkful of hashbrowns. It shouldn’t be cute. 

“I appreciate your honesty,” May says.

Felicia shrugs. “No point in lying.”

Lie: there are many reasons to lie. From her dad’s profession outside of pawn shop owner, to the guy who wouldn’t take no as an answer at some party a few weekends ago until she got her hands around her friend’s hips and said she was taken, to the thrill that shoots up her spine when she manages convince her mom that a lie is the truth. 

“That’s a good attitude. I hope it rubs off on Peter.” May’s eyes sparkle. 

“I’m not a lier,” Peter protests. “Can you hand me some jam?” Instead of handing him one, or three, little packs of continental jam, May grabs the entire rack and sets it between herself and Peter. 

“You lie sometimes,” May says, mostly amused. There’s a shade of something else, though, exhaustion, maybe. 

“Everybody lies sometimes,” Felicia offers. 

“I never do.”

There’s something in May’s soft, kind eyes that makes Felicia believe her. She still asks, “Not even white ones? Aren’t some lies for like, the benefit of the person being lied to?”

May laughs and pushes her glasses up. “Are you a philosophy major?”

“Biomedical engineering.”

“Me too!” Peter holds a hand up for a high five. 

Felicia sighs, but she gives it. 

May takes the initiative to introduce herself to Felicia’s parents, and Peter takes the initiative to get Felicia’s number after the university president and the head of Student Services both give mind-numbing speeches. “We can be study buddies,” he says.

Then he sprints off toward a table at the front, where a kid and both his parents, who arrived halfway through the president’s speech, were forced to sit. Peter and the boy have some weirdly complicated handshake. 

If Felicia has too many classes with those two nerds, she might have to switch majors. 

 

 

Peter texts her the day after all the freshman move into their dorms, inviting her to lunch with him and his friend Ned. She declines. 

He sends: _Maybe next time!_

She doesn’t respond. 

 

 

Okay, Peter is cute. 

Felicia knew that at orientation. He has floppy hair, and a charming, boyish smile, and he’s genuinely nice. 

He’s smart, too. She learns this because she has the unfortunate luck of having Chemistry _and_ Introduction to Computer Science with him. She spots him in Chemistry that first day and sits across the lecture hall. He spots her in Computer Science and plops down in the empty chair next to her. 

“Hey,” he says, unzipping his backpack and pulling out the textbook.

“Hi.” She folds her arms and rests her forehead against them. 

“Tired?” Peter asks.

“No,” she mumbles into her skin. 

“Okay.” Peter laughs.

Felicia sits up. He has a nice laugh, sue her. “I’ve been here less than a week, and I already think the cafeteria food is trying to kill me.”

“There’s a diner my friend and I found off-campus. If you’re free after this we can go get some greasy food that will also probably try to kill you?” His brown eyes are wide and hopeful and genuine in a way she’s not used to from boys. She doesn’t quite trust it. 

“Sure,” she says anyway, shrugging. 

Class is boring, but Peter rambles on and on about it the entire way to the diner. The excitement in his voice could give Felicia a headache, but it doesn’t. His voice is nice. She wonders what it’d sound like with a little more rasp, hoarse from kissing. 

Because, here’s the thing, when he swung his backpack over his shoulder after class, she saw his bicep. And she realized that he’s like, hot. It’s weird that she didn’t notice it right away, but there’s something about his boyish, kind demeanor that distracted her from the fact that his jaw is cut and he has muscles. He probably has a six pack, and Felicia hasn’t had sex in a few weeks. These things are related, okay? 

They sit in a booth. There’s a cut in the vinyl covering the seats, the padding peaking through. 

“I had the reuben last time. It was really good. But if you’re vegetarian, MJ liked the grilled cheese,” Peter says, scanning the menu. “She added mushrooms. The waiter looked at her like she was super crazy, but she said it needed vegetables. Well, she didn’t say vegetables, because a mushroom isn’t technically--”

Felicia blinks at him. “I’m a carnivore.”

“You can add meat, but they’ll charge you two dollars.”

“I can read,” Felicia says. 

Peter blushes. Felicia likes that. “Right. Sorry.”

They order, and Felicia asks: “Do you like house parties?”

Peter’s mouth twists. “I guess?”

“You guess?”

“I mean, I’ve only been to a few. This asshole from high school used to throw them, so. I don’t know. MJ always went to them. I don’t even know _why_.”

“MJ, huh?” Felicia raises an eyebrow.

Peter flushes again. Felicia doesn’t like it so much this time. “She’s a friend,” he says quietly, an undercurrent of longing there. “She goes to Harvard.”

Felicia doesn’t like that, either. “Cool.”

Peter clears his throat. “Sorry. Ned says I talk about her all the time. He’s her friend, too, but if it annoys him, I can’t imagine how annoying it is for someone who doesn’t--”

“Shut up,” she says, rolling her eyes. “You ramble a lot.”

He sighs. “Yeah, sorry.”

“You apologize a lot, too.” Her mouth quirks up, and Peter shakes his head, looking down at the table. “There’s a party this Saturday. You should come.”

She almost adds that he can bring MJ. 

She doesn’t.

Why make things harder for herself? 

 

 

The music at the party pulses in Felicia’s blood, the bass turned up too high. The mix of vodka and Coke in her cup is too strong, and the guy’s hands on her hips are digging into her bones too painfully. The entire house smells like sweat and weed, and Felicia thinks it probably smells the same even when it isn’t filled to capacity with drunk college kids. 

“You’re so hot,” he breathes against her ear. 

“I know.” She rolls her eyes, pushes at his chest, but he doesn’t budge. “You’re not hot enough for how gross your breath smells.”

He laughs. “Come on now, stop playing hard to get.”

“I’m not playing,” she grits out. She throws the rest of her drink in his face. Some of it gets on her top. Great. 

“That wasn’t very nice.” He smiles; it’s mean. His fingers manage to grip at her waist even harder.

Felicia rolls her eyes again, but her heart hammers in her chest. This dude is tall and broad, almost blocking her view, but she can see that there are people around. No one is paying attention. She doesn’t think he’d be able to get her out of here with it remaining that way. She has lungs, but still. Fear curls around her heart. “It wasn’t supposed to be.”

“Baby--”

“I’m not your--”

“Hey,” someone says, jostling the guy’s shoulder and managing to get him to tear his grubby hands off her. “I don’t think she’s interested, man.”

Peter.

It’s Peter. 

“Is she your girl or something?” he asks, annoyed, wiping some of her drink off his face and then onto his jeans. 

“No. I’m just not a fucking dick.”

Okay, so like, Peter is really, really hot.

The guy -- Felicia thinks his name was Matt or Mark or something generic -- reels back, lips curling cruelly over his teeth. He’s taller than Peter. “I was here first.”

“I’m not your property,” Felicia says. She whacks his arm. 

Mistake. Generic-Name grabs her bicep roughly. It _hurts_. Tears well up in Felicia’s eyes. She feels so stupid, and she hates it. She’s going to sign up for those jujitsu classes her dad has been pestering her about for two years, going on and on about connecting to her culture and exercise. She _promises_ she’s going to sign up. Hand to god.

“Be nice,” he whispers. 

“Don’t touch her,” Peter snarls. And then he punches Generic-Name in the face. 

“Dude, what the _fuck_.” Generic-Name grabs his nose. It’s bleeding, and the blood pours out between his fingers. 

“I’m sorry,” Peter says, shrugging. He doesn’t sound it. Good. “But you should learn to respect people.”

“What the fuck,” the guy repeats, finally heading off, presumably to the bathroom or the kitchen. Felicia hopes his nose is broken. She hopes there’s a ginormous hospital bill his presumably rich parents make him pay himself. 

“Thanks,” she says, bringing her top up to wipe at her face and eyes. “I could have handled it myself.”

“I know.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, rocks on his feet. “Sorry if I overstepped.”

“Stop apologizing.” Felicia runs her hands through her hair and wills her heart to stop racing against her ribcage. “I appreciate it. I’m probably gonna have a bruise, and it’s not even the fun kind.”

Peter blushes.

“Come on.” She wraps her hand around his wrist and tugs. He follows willingly.

“Where are we going?”

“I need another drink.”

Peter raises an eyebrow when she pours an equal amount of vodka into her Coke, but he doesn’t say anything other than: “Did you finish the chem. homework?”

“No.” She takes a gulp of her drink. “You did, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. I had a study session with Ned and MJ Friday night. It was really interesting. All about alkanes and hidden hydrogens and lone pairs. Carbon is fascinating because--”

“This is a party,” Felicia says.

Peter gulps. “Oh.”

“Let’s dance.”

She sips on her drink before pouring all the alcohol she wasted down the drain. She tugs on Peter’s wrist again. He goes willingly again. She likes that. 

He’s not a good dancer, which shouldn’t be cute or hot, but he’s still cute and hot, so. Felicia might be a little horny and might want to be a little fucked. 

He’s hesitant to touch her. She sticks his hands on her hips herself. His touch is light, gentle but warm. It’s nice. His hands ghost where Generic-Name had squeezed, replacing the hurt with something softer and hotter. Felicia wraps her arms around his neck and sways to the throbbing bass. She tilts her hips toward his. His thumb brushes over her hip bone through her jeans. 

She leans forward to whisper-yell in his ear: “You’re not a good dancer.”

He chuckles like something’s caught in his throat. “Sorry.”

Felicia glances between his eyes and his lips, eyes and lips, eyes and lips. She gives him time to stop her, but he doesn’t. She kisses him, insistent and hungry, fingers carding through the hair at the base of his neck. He freezes, body tensing up, but then he kisses her back.

And well, that’s not her fault at all. 

 

 

She doesn’t sit next to him in Chemistry because everyone seems to think the seats they picked the first day are assigned or something. They’re absolutely not. 

“That shirt stretches so nice over his shoulders,” this girl in front her says, leaning over toward her friend. They’re both terrible whisperers. 

“God, I know,” Girl Number Two answers. “And his _hands_.”

Felicia stops the snort in the back of her throat. 

“I asked him if he wanted to help us study for the test next week, and he said yes.” 

Girl Number One’s eyes widen and her jaw slackens. “Peter’s gonna help us study?”

“Yeah.” Girl Number Two smirks. 

Felicia leans forward, bracing herself on the little desk attached to her chair. “Can’t wait.”

Both girls blanche. “What?”

“Peter and I are study buddies. That’s who you’re talking about, right? Peter Parker?”

Girl Number One swallows. “Uh, yeah.”

“He invited me to join, since, you know, we study together all the time.”

Lie. 

But all she has to do is ask Peter to study for the test with her. He’ll invite her along. He’s nice like that. 

Felicia likes the flush of embarrassment on the girls’ faces and the slow, awkward way they turn to face the front of the lecture hall.

 

 

Felicia likes having things other people want. 

It’s not her best quality. 

But knowing that other people want Peter? The two girls in Chemistry, the boy who keeps flirting with him in Computer Science? It makes Felicia want him even more. 

Felicia also likes winning. 

Most people do, she figures, so she’s not too upset with herself about it. 

 

 

Peter’s talking to some girl outside the library before they’re set to study with the two girls from their chemistry class -- turns out their names are Angelica and Patsy. Who knew? 

This girl is neither Angelica nor Patsy, and as Felicia approaches, she notices Peter’s rigid posture. His face pinches and his eyebrows furrow, and the girl takes a sip of something from a coffee shop Peter likes to study in.

“Hey,” Felicia greets, sidling right up to Peter and knocking her shoulder against his. She grins, a knowing and sparkling thing, and keeps her arm pressed against his. “Look who’s early for once!” 

Peter smiles. “Hey Felicia. This is M-- Michelle.”

Michelle is beautiful. She’s not wearing any makeup. There’s a pimple by her right temple, and a few strands of hair frizz out of her haphazard bun. She’s wearing a loose T-shirt with a stretched out collar and jeans rolled up at the cuff. Her converse are scoffed. She’s beautiful, but like, Felicia's not worried. 

“Hey,” Felicia says, tilting her head and smiling like _back off_. 

Michelle eyes her in pretty much the same way before responding, “You can call me MJ.”

 _Oh shit_.

“Nice to meet you.” _I’ve heard a lot about you_. Felicia flicks some imaginary lint off Peter’s collar. “Hey, I was wondering if you’d like to go out Saturday?”

“Uh,” Peter stutters. He looks at MJ in a panicked way that’s kind of cute and really funny. “I don’t know…”

MJ huffs, readjusts the backpack on her shoulders and says: “You can do whatever you want, Peter.”

Felicia watches his adam’s apple bob as he swallows and rubs at the back of his neck. “Uh, sure. Sounds good.”

MJ’s posture sags. 

Felicia grins. “Cool. I’ll see you inside.”

She’s feeling pretty invincible, so she leans up and presses a kiss to his cheek, exaggerating the sway of her hips as she walks inside the library. She knows Peter’s not watching, but maybe MJ is.

 

 

“Okay, so, he shows up to the group discussion 15 minutes late. And I can’t leave because he sent an email out to everyone like two minutes before class was supposed to start, right? So, this fucker finally shows up with the worst case of bedhead I’ve ever seen, and then entertains the professor’s pet who sits in the front row--”

“Seth?” Peter asks.

“Sure.” Felicia waves her hand in dismissal “Because he wants to know why he got an 80 on the lab from two weeks ago. So we have like 10 minutes to go over the chapter for today, and it’s unbearable. Luckily, my study buddy is the smartest person in the class, so I don’t have to worry about it, but everybody in my discussion group is fucking screwed because we have the worst TA of all time.” 

“Sorry about that,” Peter says. A timid smile twitches at his mouth. “Smartest person in the class, huh?”

“You knew that.”

“Well, I thought Seth was competition but…”

Felicia laughs and pushes her freshcut bangs away from her eyes. They feel weird on her forehead, and she worries they’re going to cause a breakout, but Peter had smiled at her and told her they looked nice when he picked her up for their date. So, potential acne be damned; the bangs will cover it, anyway. “Clearly not. He’s the idiot who forced everyone to wait for Mr. TA to show up instead of pretending none of us check our email so we could bail.”

“In one of MJ’s classes, someone printed out a sign saying class was cancelled and taped it to the door.”

“Okay?” Felicia sips her milkshake and tries very hard not to roll her eyes. 

“The next time the class met, the TA had everyone write the word cancelled down, explained that he had not cancelled class, and that cancelled is spelled with two L’s.” Peter’s eyes are wide and excited. 

“Okay?”

“Imagine telling a class of Harvard comparative lit. majors that cancelled is spelled with two L’s.”

“It’s not?” Felicia writes it with her finger on the table. 

“I mean, it is, I guess. MJ said that it’s correct both ways. Americans often spell it with just one L. Cancellation needs two, though.”

Felicia nods. “Anyone ever tell you not to talk about other girls while on a date?”

Peter blushes. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think--”

“It’s fine,” she says. “She’s your friend. I’m just letting you know in case the next girl you date isn’t so understanding.”

“Next girl?” 

The sincerity of the question catches Felicia off-guard. 

Peter’s face is still tinted pink, his eyes are wide, confused and amused, like he can’t quite figure her out. Like he wants to.

She wants to figure him out, too. “Maybe not.”

“No next girl?” 

She rolls her eyes. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” he asks, sliding back toward predictable. 

She slips out of her side of the booth, and as he’s asking what she’s doing, she slides next to him, cradles his jaw, lets her fingers slip into his soft curls, and kisses him. 

 

 

Felicia leans against Peter’s shoulder, peering at the sentence he’s highlighting in his Computer Science textbook. “Are you going to keep that forever?”

“What?” he asks. His line goes squiggly at the end of the paragraph. 

“You’re not going to sell that back at the end of the semester?”

“My textbook? Yeah, I am.” He caps the highlighter, and Felicia stops it with her palm when it rolls across the table. 

“Then why are you writing in it?”

He tilts his head in confusion. _Stupid boy_ , she thinks, but it’s all fond. “To help me study?”

“Yeah, but what about the person who buys it?”

“You think it’ll be distracting?” he asks.

“Maybe.” She rolls her eyes. “But you’re just giving them free advice. You’re lightening their workload.”

“Wha--” Peter laughs quietly. “You don’t write in your books because you don’t want it to be easier for the next person?”

Felicia scoffs. “I don’t write in my textbooks because I take good notes. But, hypothetically, yes.”

“I love this flirting banter you guys have going,” Ned interrupts from across the table. “But some of us are trying to concentrate.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have come to a group study session,” Felicia says.

“Maybe you two shouldn’t have come to a group study session if you were just going to--”

“If we weren’t here it wouldn’t be a group study session,” Felicia interrupts, feeling a smug smile pulling at her mouth. 

Ned shakes his head. “It’s not my fault MJ pulled a Peter.”

“Hey!” Peter objects. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Felicia scoffs again, and Ned says, “ _Dude_ ,” because they both know Peter can be a flaky fucking shit. 

The first time Felicia learned about Peter’s tendency to show up late or cancel plans completely, he skipped out on valuable lab time with an excuse about it being the only night everyone on his American History debate team could meet up, and Felicia had responded that gen eds. are everything that is wrong with university education system. 

The second time, he was thirty minutes late picking her up for a date. He apologized for oversleeping after an all-nighter and a mid-afternoon nap. His hair looked the part, and Felicia had run her hands through it, shutting up his stuttering with her mouth on his, slipping her tongue past his teeth. “Bedhead looks good on you,” she said, hands clutching his biceps. She liked the flush on his cheeks. 

The third time, he texted her an hour before their two month anniversary about food poisoning. After that, Felicia stopped keeping count. But she kinda likes it. She likes that he’s flaky instead of clingy. She likes when he surprises her at her dorm with a cup of coffee and a smile tucked into the corner of his mouth to make up for leaving her alone in Chemistry the day before. 

Jokes on him, though, because, turns out, she actually loves Angelica and Patsy.

“I’m working on it,” Peter grumbles.

Felicia and Ned exchange a look, because they also both know that Peter is probably never going to get better at not showing up midway through the credits of an arthouse film Felicia wants him to see. 

“You’re making progress,” Ned offers.

“No, you’re not.” 

True. 

Felicia smiles and brushes a kiss against Peter’s cheek. 

They go back to studying and trying to stay quiet for Ned. Felicia’s all pressed up against Peter’s side now, chin on his shoulder and reading his textbook instead of her own, humming a little when she runs her hand over his thigh and feels him tense up before relaxing into the touch. She tells him he’s not good at picking out the important bits, and Peter tells her that it’s good he has an awesome study partner, then.

They lapse into silence until a lightweight paperback is dropped onto the table in front of Peter. 

MJ sighs. Uber dramatic. “I’m going to kill Josh,” she says.

Felicia looks up, already bored. 

“Who’s Josh?” Ned asks. 

“This asshole in my class who keeps trying to play devil’s advocate.” MJ sits down, drops her backpack next to her chair, and tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. “Today he decided that maybe Iago is the tragic hero instead of Othello. And it’s obvious he doesn’t really believe that. He’s just trying to annoy me.”

“Well, it’s clearly working,” Felicia deadpans.

MJ glares at her. 

“Maybe you two should fuck out all the sexual tension,” she suggests. Peter’s body goes rigid. Big surprise. Felicia would elbow him in the ribs if she cared more. 

“Ew,” MJ says, opening her Norton Anthology and pressing down between the pages with her palm. 

“I’m just saying it’d probably solve your problem.”

MJ ignores her. 

Felicia lightly scratches her nails around Peter’s knee until he stops looking like his body could snap in half. “Whatcha reading?”

Ned catches her eye and shakes his head in warning. Peter’s brow is furrowed, looking between MJ -- head down, eyes scanning the page -- and Felicia. 

“Oh, come on,” Felicia says, palm splaying against Peter’s knee. “It was a joke.”

“It was a suggestion,” MJ says, not looking up. 

“Whatever. You don’t have to be pissed because you know I’m right. Or because you haven’t gotten laid lately. Or whatever it is that has a stick up your ass.”

“Shit,” Ned mumbles. He slouches behind his laptop, but Felicia can see his eyes peeking over it, only one earbud in, and obviously listening. 

Peter vibrates next to her, knee going up-and-down and up-and-down beneath her hand. His shoulders hitch toward his ears, his right hand grips the edge of the table, the left stilled in his textbook. He stares at MJ with wide eyes, mouth a tight, thin frown. 

MJ doesn’t react.

Felicia rolls her eyes. 

MJ turns her page.

Peter exhales. 

And then MJ places her bookmark back, closes the anthology, and leans over to zip it into her backpack. 

“Felicia,” Peter says, and she knows he expects her to apologize. 

“Like she doesn’t make fun of you all the time.” Felicia feels annoyance lick at her spin.

“It’s not-- It’s different-- she doesn’t hurt--” 

“Oh, I hurt your feelings?” Felicia asks MJ.

MJ stands and swings her bag over her shoulder. “I’d have to have feelings for that to be possible.”

“Something we agree on.” Felicia smiles, but it’s not nice. 

“MJ, please,” Peter says, and he’s up by the time she’s turned away from the table. 

God, he’s annoying. MJ’s annoying. They’re both fucking annoying. Felicia groans as Peter grabs MJ’s wrist and follows her outside, sidestepping the door. He’s talking with one hand, and Felicia knows it’s because the other one is still pressed into her skin to keep her there.

“You know you hurt her feelings,” Ned says. He glances up from his laptop.

“I was kidding. Jesus, she can give it but she can’t take it.” Felicia laughs. “I’m sure Shakespeare boy could help with that, too.”

“Felicia,” Ned says. “I get it. She overreacted.”

“Obviously.”

“But--”

Felicia places her elbow on the table and rests her chin on her fist. “But she’s not very nice to me, either.”

“She doesn’t antagonize you. You and me, we joke. You and Peter, MJ, Peter and I, it’s not the same. You know that.”

“So I have to apologize?”

Ned blinks. “You don’t have to do anything.”

It’s very MJ of him, Felicia notes. 

She glances toward the window. MJ’s mouth moves, barely opening. There’s something desperate on Peter’s face, something apologetic in the set of his brow and his kind eyes. MJ speaks again, and Peter nods. 

Peter walks back into the coffee shop first, holding the door open behind him and looking over his shoulder to make sure MJ’s following. MJ goes to the counter, standing behind someone with long graying hair. Peter comes to the table and digs his wallet out of his backpack.

“She’s coming back. I’m buying her a brownie. Will you please just say you’re sorry?”

“I won’t mean it.”

Peter runs a hand through his hair and sighs, frustrated. Good. They’re in the same boat. “That’s fine.”

“Okay. Fine.”

“Fine.” Peter shakes his head, exasperated, almost amused, before jogging over to the counter to pay. 

“It’d be nice if he cared about my feelings like that,” Felicia tells Ned.

“He does,” Ned says, without skipping a beat.

Felicia squints at him. 

Lie. 

 

 

Peter’s palm is warm where her neck curves into her shoulder. Her back presses against her door, and Peter presses against her. 

The room is dark.

Her roommate is home for the weekend.

Felicia groans his name into his mouth.

“What,” he pants, kissing down her jaw. The hand that was on his neck runs down her arm until he can lace their fingers together and squeeze.

“Bed.”

He pulls back and blinks at her. His eyes are wide, from the dark, probably. Maybe from her. He’s got bedhead, but it’s from her hands. And _god_ , it’s a good luck, spreading heat through her bloodstream. “You sure?” he rasps.

And if she wasn’t, the octave his voice has dropped would have done it. “Yeah.”

She pulls him toward her bed by their interlaced hands, pulls him on top of her, pulls her shirt over her head.

He looks at her with an open mouth and blown pupils. He looks at her with lust, but it’s mixed with something much softer, affectionate and wonderstruck. His hands are ghosts on her stomach, on her breasts, but his mouth is insistent on hers. She can almost feel him searching for something, like if he digs enough he’ll be able to find something in her in loves. 

Wait, that’s not right. 

Because she brings his hands to her leggings and he pulls away, rests her forehead against her collarbone, just a second, his unsteady breath warm and wet against her skin. 

He looks up and swallows. “I’ve never,” he starts. “I’ve never done this before.”

“We don’t have to do anything,” Felicia says. Her voice is shot. She’s so wet just from when he was grinding against her, from the flush on his skin she can see in the moonlight, from the feel of his thumb catching momentarily across her belly button. 

“I want to, I just-- Tell me what to do.”

 _Oh_. 

“Yeah, okay,” she says. She pulls him down for a kiss, soft and sweet, hand against the back of his neck and carding through the soft, damp curls there. 

 

 

Felicia really likes Peter a lot.

When they walk by someone with a sign asking for money, even someone at the train obviously scamming for cash, Peter always takes out his wallet and offers something. Once, they ran into the same woman who just needed four dollars for a ticket to Norfolk twice in the same day. Peter gave her four dollars both times. 

“You’re an idiot,” Felicia said. 

Peter shrugged, hands shoved in his pockets. “For sure.” A beat. “You got any money you could lend me for dinner?”

When she helped him figure out what was wrong with his computer program, his eyes lit up. He held her face in both his hands and pressed a solid, warm kiss to her forehead. “You’re a genius,” he said, so genuine the retort or joke died in her throat. 

He brings her coffee before Chemistry, and it took him a month to stop apologizing to the guy whose seat he took, even though Felicia is the one who kept sticking her feet there and pointing across the lecture hall to Peter’s original desk. 

He’s gentle whenever he brushes her bangs away from her eyes, and he flushed deep red when she noticed a bruise over his heart. She traced it with her finger and asked if he’s in a fight club, because that would “totally be a turn on.”

“I can’t talk about Fight Club,” he said, voice serious, but mirth in his eyes, ears still burning like the fire in her chest. 

So, she really likes Peter a lot. More than she expected to, if she’s being honest. But there are things about him that annoy her:

Most weekends he’d rather curl up in one of their beds and watch some Nora Ephron romcom or nerdy space movie instead of going to a party. Felicia misses some good dancing and cheap booze because she’s trying to stay awake as Meg Ryan falls in love with somebody. 

The dorm room he and Ned share is disgusting. Whenever she steps foot in there, clothes are strewn all over the floor, there are at least three different chip bags open on dressers or desks, and she’s absolutely positive they don’t know there’s a utility closet with a vacuum at the end of the hall that they’re supposed to use. 

Before they left for winter break, he gave her one of his hoodies and a necklace with a little black cat on it that she was looking at during a date to the mall a few weeks ago (they’re college kids with a budget, and mall dates are nice, especially when she can embarrass him by feeling him up in a public dressing room). It was so thoughtful, and it made Felicia feel kind of bad that all she got him was a bottle of cologne, even though she knows he hardly ever wears it. And it made her feel even worse when she started noticing him wearing these stupid Spider-man socks all the time after Christmas break.

She asked him if they were a gift. 

“Yeah, MJ got them for me.” He laughed and ran a hand through his hair, almost bashful. “They’re ugly, right?”

“Hideous.”

 

 

Ned invites them to a party one weekend in February, and because it’s Ned, and because Peter knows Felicia likes going out, he agrees to go with her. 

They share a beer, beat Ned and Patsy at beer pong, and then Felicia drags him onto the dance floor. He still can’t dance, but his hands are warm on her hips, and she pestered him into putting on that cologne she gave him, so he smells really good. 

This definitely beats Peter falling asleep before midnight and drooling on her shoulder while Hayden Christensen angsts about the Force and Natalie Portman and shit. 

When she sends him on a mission to get her something to drink, she dances with Angelica and Patsy, because they actually have rhythm. 

After thirty minutes, with sweat accumulating along her hairline, Felicia excuses herself to find her boyfriend who clearly got lost on his way to the kitchen. She grabs herself another beer, pushing through the throng of bodies, and thinks they should probably leave soon before some idiot neighbor calls the cops. 

Some girl, right by the archway that leads into the living room where the beer pong table lives, says, “Peter Parker is the hottest guy in our biomed year.”

Felicia squares her shoulders. “Excuse me,” she says, positive Peter’s in there, probably playing beer pong with Ned to help make up for kicking his ass earlier. Typical. 

“God, I know. Wonder if he’s into guys?” the girl’s friend asks. He’s shrimpy but tall, short hair.

“I dunno, but he’s got a girlfriend, so we’re both out of luck.”

Felicia smirks as she eases her way around the girl and into the room, feeling really good about herself. There are definitely hot people at MIT, and there are definitely other hot biomedical engineering majors, but Peter’s ripped, and he’s got such a nice jaw and soft hair. Even more important to these nerds, he’s a fucking a genius. 

“Wonder who she is,” Shrimpy But Somehow Tall says. “I’ve never seen her around before.”

Felicia takes a pull of her beer, ready to turn and introduce herself, the only person hotter than Peter Parker: _Hi, I’m Felicia. Peter’s girlfriend. Yeah, he’s into dudes. But mostly he’s into me. Thanks for playing! See you around in Biology or Genetics, where I literally sit next to him. Bye._

Except she shifts and spots Ned playing beer pong with someone she doesn’t know, and then her eyes settle on Peter and MJ standing a few feet behind the table, backs against the wall. Their elbows brush, and their heads lean toward each other. Peter says something; MJ laughs, head dipping forward, down, like she’s trying to hide it from him, or maybe from everybody but him. Peter smiles, soft and fond.

“I wish he’d look at me like that,” Some Girls says. 

Felicia shivers, her entire body going cold except the flush of heat she can feel on her face. 

Peter nudges MJ in the ribs and his smile blooms, a bright and blithe thing. He reaches between them and brushes a curl off MJ’s forehead. Felicia’s mind flashes to when they’re having sex and he brushes her now overgrown bangs away from her eyes. 

Fucking embarrassing. 

“That all?” Shrimpy, Tall Guy asks.

Some Girl giggles. “Callum, _please_.”

Felicia hisses a breath out through her teeth and marches toward Peter and MJ. 

He looks up at her and waves, a dorky thing Felicia would begrudgingly find cute if she wasn’t pissed. MJ nods, the smile fading from her eyes. 

Felicia snakes a hand around Peter’s neck, kisses him and doesn’t look at Some Girl and Tall, Shrimpy Callum. 

“Hey,” Peter laughs, hand going around her waist to steady her. 

“I’m tired. Let’s get out of here,” Felicia says. She leans a little to see MJ. “Hey, MJ.”

“Hey.” MJ takes a sip of something in a water bottle. Probably water. She’s lame like that. 

“We’re leaving, but it was good to see you.” Lie. 

“Okay.” 

Felicia tugs Peter away, and she knows he’s looking at MJ when he says, “I’ll call you tomorrow,” before he shouts goodbye to Ned.

She pulls him through the crowd, through their classmates. He was gone for like 30 minutes. Who knows how long he was with MJ. Who knows how many people think she’s his girlfriend, how many people know he’s Felicia’s boyfriend, how many of those people think he’s cheating on her with MJ or think he’s in love with MJ. 

Felicia marches him into the room where everyone’s coats are piled onto a bed. She finds theirs, shrugs hers on without zipping it, grabs Peter’s sleeve and yanks him through the front door. It’s fucking cold outside. It feels nice on Felicia’s hot cheeks but terrible and sharp on her cold fingers. She doesn’t reach into her pockets to take out her gloves.

She power-walks, and Peter stumbles behind her, not trying to catch up. 

He laughs. “What’s gotten into you?”

She drops his sleeve. Stops in the middle of the sidewalk. It snowed a few days ago, a wet, slushy downfall, but then the temperature dropped and formed patches of ice the salt can’t melt fash enough. She almost slips when she turns to look at him, but those jujitsu classes are doing wonders for her balance. “Nothing.”

His laugh dries up. He squints. “Felicia?”

She swallows. She grabs his face and kisses him, pressing her body into his as much as she can with their bulky coats in the way. He shivers, and she knows it’s because her hands are cold. “I’m your girlfriend,” she says against his mouth.

“You are,” he agrees, confused.

She rests her forehead against his. “I didn’t eat enough before drinking, and I’m tired.”

“Okay.” He kisses her, a chaste peck. “Let’s go to sleep.”

She nods. She zips her coat up and pulls her gloves on. 

She lets him take her hand back. 

 

 

Okay, maybe Ned was right about Peter getting better at not flaking. 

Since they returned from winter break, he hasn’t missed anything without telling her at least ten minutes before.

So, Ned: 1, Felicia: 100.

No, she’s not going to expand on how she got her points. Thank you. 

Except, because Felicia likes gossip, she’s started hearing about Peter and Mystery Girl. And because some people who like gossip also like to stalk other people’s social media (Felicia won’t judge. Usually, she’s one of those people), people who like gossip know that mystery girl is MJ From Harvard. 

She catches someone in one of their classes looking at her and Peter before leaning over and whispering behind their hands to their friend. Felicia feels her face flush. It’s embarrassing. And she starts to wonder.

She doesn’t know MJ, not really. Peter doesn’t seem like the type to cheat. But men are scum, so who knows. 

And she likes him. And he’s boring. And annoying.

Literally everyone in their year knows they’re together, and too many people think he’s in love with MJ, and Felicia can’t tell if she’s more hurt or embarrassed by it.

She doesn’t know if she also thinks he’s in love with MJ. 

Probably. 

Men are scum. 

She wonders if he’s missing study dates in the library and dinner at the diner because he’s spending that time with MJ. She wonders if that bruise on his hip is a hickey from someone else. It’s not, obviously, it doesn’t actually look anything like a hickey, and Felicia knows what a hickey looks like when one’s been sucked into Peter’s hip.

She’s brushing mascara onto the eyelashes she gave up trying to curl when she was 17 and her mom insisted she was beautiful just the way she is -- true -- when she gets a call from Peter 20 minutes before he’s meant to meet her for a too late cup of coffee. 

“Hi,” she answers. 

“Hey,” he says, soft, apologetic. 

Felicia rubs her lips together. She hasn’t put lipstick on yet. “You’re not gonna make it, are you?”

“I’m sorry.” 

“It’s fine.” She was up late last night studying. Having caffeine at 9 would just keep her awake too late again, and she hates herself, so she signed up for a Thursday 8 AM. 

“It’s just MJ. She--”

Felicia hears the concern in his voice, and she jabs the mascara wand back in the tube. “Right.”

“I’m so sorry, Felicia. It’s just-- Her dad-- It’s not my place to say, I don’t think.” He sighs, sad, and she can picture the way he scrubs his hand over his face, stretching himself so thin to try and be there for everyone. “She really needs a friend right now. I’m really, really sorry.”

Felicia swallows and reaches for her makeup remover. “Stop apologizing, Peter. I understand.”

“Okay. Thanks. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“You always do.” She doesn’t know if she means he always promises, or if she means he always manages to make it up to her. 

He doesn’t ask. “Alright. Night, Felicia.”

“Goodnight.”

 

 

She expected Peter cancelling on her to be with MJ to make her angry, but she’s too exhausted the night it happens to entertain the emotion. 

Peter looks wrecked when she sees him in the cafeteria the next day, like he didn’t sleep at all, and MJ looks even worse when Felicia spots her studying in the back corner of the coffee shop a week later.

She might hate MJ a little bit, but she orders a brownie with her cappuccino. 

“Hey,” she says, setting the brownie down in front of MJ. “Got this for you.”

MJ looks up. Her skin appears dry, like all the life has been sucked out of her. Her eyes are puffy, the circles underneath them dark. The acne spot by her temple is alive and well. “Why?”

Felicia shrugs. “Looks like you might need it.”

“Did Peter tell you--”

“He didn’t tell me anything. Don’t worry.” Felicia sips her cappuccino. “You just look like shit.”

MJ blinks. Her mouth twitches with a smile. “Thanks.”

 

 

Felicia Hardy is going to murder Peter Parker. 

“Double date,” she repeats, the words heavy and confusing on her tongue. 

“Yeah.” Peter nods. He grabs her hand and plays with her fingers. “It’ll be fun. And it’ll give you a chance to bond with MJ.”

“Maybe MJ and I are just not meant to be friends.”

Peter frowns and swipes his thumb over the back of her hand. “You guys have a lot more in common than you think. And!” Peter ducks his head and catches her eye, earnest and excited. “She’ll be a lot more open and talkative because she really wants to get to know this girl. Instead of being super focused on studying, you know?”

 _Yeah_ , being focused on schoolwork is why she and Felicia have never bonded at those group study sessions. Maybe Peter’s not as smart as Felicia thought. 

She’s not as smart as she thought, either, because she says: “Yeah. Okay.”

 

 

MJ looks a lot better when she sits across from Peter at the Thai restaurant. 

Felicia doesn’t tell her that. 

Her date is a beautiful girl named Kiara, dark skin and braids, and Felicia does tell Kiara she loves her eyeshadow. 

“So, how’d you guys meet?” Felicia asks.

MJ shrugs. “We have poetry class together.”

“Cool.” Felicia doesn’t understand the point of poetry. She thinks if you have something to say, you should just come out and say it. Or just lie. No point in dancing around the truth or what you mean, even if it sounds pretty. Prose can be pretty. Poetry is overly complicated and confusing just to be overly complicated and confusing. Hard pass. 

“Michelle always has something to say, and we’ve been talking about everything before class all semester. She really knows her stuff,” Kiara says, hint of a southern accent in her voice. 

“She does. She helped me with my first English essay, and I got a B,” Peter says.

MJ’s eyes widen. “You got a B on that?”

“You worked a miracle.”

“What did you fuck up?” she asks. 

“I don’t know. I didn’t want to bother you anymore.” Peter smiles and lifts one shoulder. 

“You could have,” MJ says. Her eyes are serious. When she speaks again, her words are softer than Felicia has ever heard: “I don’t mind you bothering me.”

“I know.” Peter nods. “You’re going to regret that come finals.”

“Obviously.”

There’s a beat of uncomfortable silence. 

“How’d you two meet?” Kiara asks Felicia and Peter.

“Freshman orientation,” Peter says. He bumps his shoulder against Felicia’s, grinning. “She thought I was disgusting.”

Felicia scoffs. “It’s not my fault you eat your jam with a little bit of crusty bread.”

“That’s cute,” Kiara says.

“We didn’t start dating until she got the courage to ask me out,” Peter adds.

MJ takes a large gulp of water. 

“It wasn’t courage I lacked,” Felicia clarifies. She reaches over and rubs her hand against Peter’s thigh. She sees MJ stiffen, eyes tracking the movement of her arm. She sees Kiara notice MJ noticing. “I just didn’t know if I could handle dating a nerd as big as Peter. But then I realized everyone at MIT is a nerd, so.”

“I didn’t even know you liked me,” Peter says. 

“Really?”

“Really.” Peter nods. “You’re way out of my league.”

True. 

The conversation is okay. Felicia is an excellent conversationalist, if you ask her, so that helps. Kiara is friendly, but MJ alters between looking supremely uncomfortable whenever Felicia says anything about her relationship with Peter, even worse when she talks about those early weeks before Felicia asked him out, eyes flitting between her and Peter like she’s looking for any point of contact, and mildly fascinated by Kiara’s take on auteurs and Greek myths. 

Mildly fascinated seems pretty good when it comes to MJ, as far as Felicia is concerned. 

“She looked me dead in the eye and called me an idiot,” Kiara says, glancing at MJ, smile playing on her lips. “She just hates being told she’s wrong.”

“You watched _Hercules_ too much as a child, and now you think every myth is better to women than it is.”

“I’m not saying every myth is a perfect piece of feminist writing.” Kiara rolls her eyes. “Stop generalizing. Antigone is an example of fierce loyalty and determination.”

“And she dies. Everybody dies.”

“Part of being a tragic hero is the tragedy, Michelle. But you’re willfully ignoring the hero part.”

“How can you praise her for her loyalty when it’s literally her hamartia?” 

“Her what?” Peter asks. 

“Tragic flaw,” Kiara explains. “It’s the thing that leads to her demise.”

“You can be too loyal,” MJ says. She looks at Peter, and her face sort of freezes, crumples in on itself. Because MJ is speaking, Felicia notices, Peter notices, and Kiara notices. MJ clears her throat. “It’s not admirable. It’s stupid.”

“But loyalty-- Just being loyal, that isn’t stupid,” Peter offers, voice vibrating with something that prickles at the back of Felicia’s neck. 

MJ swallows, blinks rapidly. “No,” she says, slow, wet and weighty. “No, you’re right.”

Felicia looks between them. Silverware clanks, customers murmur, a wok sizzles, and a baby coos. It still, somehow, feels silent, heavy, as Peter’s mouth presses into a thin line, eyes wide and searching. Felicia glances at MJ and sees her shake her head, almost imperceptibly: maybe _not here_ , maybe _not now_ , maybe _not ever_. Whatever it is, it’s _No_.

“Aww, see, you can admit when you’re wrong,” Kiara says, a light, uncomfortable laugh. It’s really unfair that she’s on a date with MJ, and that Felicia’s on a date with Peter, yet they’re the ones who feel like they’re intruding. 

Kiara is brave, though, reaching over to half-rest, half-pat the top of MJ’s hand. 

MJ pulls her hand away and shakes her head. “Sorry. I have to go to the bathroom.”

Kiara watches her shuffles away, and Felicia says: “She drank an entire pitcher of water by herself.” She thinks _something something_ dry _something something_. 

Peter’s leg bounces. 

He doesn’t get up and follow her. 

 

 

“You want to get ice cream?” Peter asks. 

Felicia smiles. “Mochi?”

“Yeah, sounds good.” Peter looks at MJ and Kiara, open and light. 

MJ bites her lip. “Sure.”

Kiara exhales. “Uh, I think I’m going to head back to my dorm. I have some studying to do.”

“Want me to walk with you?” MJ asks, even, neither excited nor disappointed. Felicia doesn’t know what that means. 

Kiara shakes her head too much. Obvious tell. “No. No, but I had fun,” she says, flat. 

“Okay.”

Peter and Felicia hug her goodbye; MJ does not. MJ watches her walk away and turn around the corner before saying: “I’m going to head back, too.”

Felicia says, “Okay.”

Peter says, “Mochi on me?”

“No. It’s fine. Enjoy your night without a third wheel.”

Felicia shoves her hands in her pockets.

“You’re not a third wheel, MJ. We want you to come,” Peter says, speaking for himself and not Felicia. Clearly. 

“I’m not hungry.” Her jaw is tight.

“We’ll walk you back, at least. You guys walked, right?”

MJ glares at him, but then turns and nods her head. “Yeah, we walked.” 

They dawdle, going down one street and then up another, bringing them back near where they started. MJ’s shoulders are slumped as she walks, putting time and distance between herself and Kiara, but then they start to make progress. 

MJ looks at Peter and Felicia outside her dorm. Her face is calm and clear. “Thanks. Enjoy your mochi.”

“MJ,” Peter says, head ducked and looking up at her. 

“Enjoy your date.” She swipes her ID and opens the door. 

Felicia bites her lip, watching Peter hesitate before he sprints forward and catches the handle. She rolls her eyes but walks through the door when he holds it open for her. They follow MJ up the stairs as she takes them one at a time, each step solid and deliberate.

She opens the door to her room but blocks the entrance. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not,” Peter argues.

“Don’t tell me how I feel.”

“She looks fine to me,” Felicia offers. 

Peter glances at her. She shrugs. What, MJ _does_ look fine. She looks the same kind of stoic she always does when she, Ned, Peter and Felicia study together. She clearly wants to be left alone to ponder ruining her date, and Felicia she thinks she deserves the time to wallow. Not just because she doesn’t want MJ tagging along with her and Peter, and believe her, she super doesn’t, but because if a boy she liked tried to comfort her after a disastrous attempt to move on, Felicia would kill him. 

“Please,” Peter says to MJ, eyes pleading. 

MJ huffs, but moves aside. She walks through an empty common area and then pauses, hand on the doorknob to her room. There are so many closed doors, and Peter just keeps asking her to open them. 

Her eyes cut to Felicia, and Peter follows the movement. 

Felicia shrugs, glancing at a worn sofa. There are pillows on both ends and a blanket folded over the back. It’s probably clean. “I’m just gonna sit here.”

MJ’s jaw ticks, but she goes into her room, Peter on her heels. 

Felicia watches the door close behind them.

She doesn’t try to listen at first, honest to god. She scrolls through her phone, sends snaps to Angelica, Patsy, and her parents, because her mom is really into streaks for some reason. 

It’s been five minutes, and she can hear gentle murmurs through MJ’s closed door. And, well, Felicia likes gossip, Peter is her boyfriend, and MJ is the girl between them. Maybe Felicia deserves to hear this. 

She gets up, both feet and breathing light and silent. She presses her ear against the door, stupid and cliche, but it still takes her a minute to hone in on their voices. It helps that MJ and Peter are getting louder, as though they started off at a whisper, aware Felicia was right outside, but keep forgetting with every syllable. 

“--big a deal,” she hears MJ says. 

“Yeah, but it still sucks,” Peter answers. 

“...fine... like…. Whatever.”

“No, you’re the best person ever, MJ. Honestly.” It’s so sincere that it burns at Felicia’s heart, casting smoke up through her lungs and into her eyes.

“Clearly not,” MJ answers, anger threading her words. 

“She just didn’t see it.”

“I know I’m great, dumbass. You don’t have to remind me.” A beat. “Too great for anyone to actually want to date. People have worse problems. _I_ have worse problems.”

“Listen,” Peter starts, and Felicia inhales, closing her eyes and following directions. Mistake. “Anybody who has a shot with you is the luckiest person in the world. Not taking it is stupid, and not seeing how amazing you are is even worse. Anybody who doesn’t want to be with you is an idiot.”

The silence that follows is one long heartbeat. And then, wet and bubbling over with desperation and sadness and bright, burning anger: “Jesus Christ, get out of my room, Peter.”

“What?”

“Leave me alone.” 

“Please…” Peter whispers, and maybe Felicia’s making it up in her head, or maybe her hearing’s getting better. So like, grain of salt. She bites her lip so hard she’s afraid she’s going to taste copper. 

“I’m so stupid,” MJ maybe mutters. Felicia knows she’s crying. 

“You’re not.”

“I swear to god, Peter. Leave me alone.” A beat. “I’m sure. Don’t fucking ask me if I’m sure.”

“Okay. Sorry. I didn’t-- I don’t know what I did. But I’m sorry for whatever it is.”

“Good _bye_ ,” MJ bites out.

Felicia flings herself across the room and stares at her phone until the door creaks open and Peter steps out. His hair is a mess and his eyes are wet, realization and uncertainty flickering in his pupils.

“Hey,” he exhales. 

Felicia swallows and makes a split second decision: “Let’s get mochi.”

 

 

“So, what are we gonna do about MJ?” Felicia asks before biting into her last ball of ice cream. It’s plum wine, decidedly good but not her favorite. She doesn’t want her favorite associated with this moment. 

“Huh?” Peter asks, distracted. He didn’t get anything for himself, just halfheartedly agreed to eat a piece of hers before they left the shop. 

“Being friends with you is clearly not working for her, and her being friends with you isn’t working for me, either, so.”

He blinks, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “What are you talking about?”

“You got into MIT, Peter. Don’t act stupid.” She watches his baffled frown. “You’re not a good liar, either.”

“She’s my best friend,” he says, voice cracking. 

“She’s in love with you,” Felicia snaps. The words curl bitterly, freezing and cracking between them.

Peter stops walking and scans her face. His eyes are desperate, hope seeping in at the corners. His lips part with an audible, shaky breath. 

The sidewalks are mostly empty now. The streetlamps cast a hazy, ominous glow. The wind has picked up, and Felicia shivers in her thin coat. Spring break is two weeks away. In two weeks she can pretend Peter doesn’t exist, just for a little while. “She’s not perfect, you know.”

“What are you talking about?” he asks, the words disappearing in the air between them. 

“And it was a real fucking dick move for you to date me for months when you’ve been into her the entire fucking time. You know that, right?”

“Felicia…”

She pops the last of her mochi into her mouth, chews and chews and chews. Her jaw hurts. She wipes her fingers against her skirt. 

“I’m not-- I didn’t--”

She swallows. “You are. And you did.”

“Jesus.” He runs his hand back through his hair. “She didn’t do anything to you.” 

“See, Peter. This is the problem. You’re always defending her. You’re always dropping everything for her, and never for me.” 

“You don’t want that.” He throws his hands out like a failing magician attempting their last trick. But everything goes wrong. No fireworks. No coin. No rabbit. Nothing. 

“No,” she agrees. “No, I don’t.”

“I don’t understand what you wanted from me,” he says, past tense. 

Felicia can think of many things, from the mundane to the grand, but most of them don’t matter now. “Asking you not to be in love with somebody else isn’t a tall order.” She scoffs. “You think you’re such a good fucking person. What, did you think about her every time you kissed me? Every time you fucked me where you wishing I was her? Pretending?”

“God, Felicia, stop that.”

“Stop what?” she asks. “It hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Tears well in his eyes. Not for the first time tonight, she remembers. “I didn’t-- I don’t-- You have to know that wasn’t how it was. I like you a lot.”

Felicia licks at the corner of her mouth. “But you like her more.”

Peter sighs, drops his head and scratches at the back of his neck. “Yeah.”

“You _suck_ ,” she says. “For the record, I dumped you.”

 

 

After Felicia cries, after she goes home for Spring Break, after she goes out with Angelica and Patsy and finds someone new to get under, she finds she’s okay.

Peter starts dating MJ a month later. 

Shocking! Wow! Who could have _possibly_ seen it coming?

It hurts. It’s embarrassing. 

It’s whatever. 

 

 

Felicia’s exhausted, and she has her calculus final this afternoon, so she trudges off-campus for coffee and a change of scenery.

MJ’s at that tiny table in the back corner, a pencil sticking out of her bun and a single, solitary book in front of her. Felicia knows she created some weird, customized major that combines environmental science and public policy with comparative literature, so of course she isn’t stressed. _Comparative Literature_ , give Felicia a fucking break. 

She stares at MJ while waiting for her cappuccino, and right when the barista calls her name, MJ looks up and catches Felicia staring. She presses her mouth into a razor sharp line and looks down. 

Felicia isn’t a coward. 

“Hey,” she says, “Can I ask you something?”

MJ looks up slowly and narrows her eyes. “I guess,” she decides, something underlying the words like she thinks maybe she owes Felicia this.

Felicia pulls out the empty chair and sits, letting her bag fall and lean awkwardly against her shin. She sets her cup on the table and keeps both palms wrapped around it, drumming her fingers against the sleeve. She stares at the grains in the wood. “You and Peter, huh?”

“Yeah,” MJ says, flat. 

Felicia respects that she doesn’t jump to apologize. 

“I’m trying to read, so if you--”

“Did he even like me at all?” Felicia makes eye contact, holds it. 

“Yeah,” MJ says, honest and plain. Felicia can tell it hurts her to say. “Even if he liked me, too, he wouldn’t have been with you if he didn’t think there could be … something there.” 

“Okay.” She takes sip of foam and lets it dissolve on her tongue. “I knew he liked you. When I asked him out.”

“I know,” MJ says. “It’s not your fault he said yes.”

“No, it isn’t.” Felicia traces the rim of her cup and looks at MJ’s eyes, dark and steady. She still doesn’t like her. “Good talk.”

She’s readying to leave, pushing the chair back in when MJ looks up from her book: “Did you love him?”

Felicia presses her tongue against the roof of her mouth. 

She loved that he could memorize chemical compounds by looking at them once. She loved that he got warm at night and didn’t mind when she pushed the window open. She loved that he treated her like something special when they had sex, and she loved that his hands were rough and soft at the same time. 

“I liked him a lot,” she says. 

MJ nods, like that hurts as much as it helps.

Felicia knows the feeling.


End file.
